


Mend Until You're Whole

by DragonThistle



Series: Bend Until You Break [2]
Category: MiCoVerse (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Past Torture, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Whump, refrences to all the things that happened to Milo in the Facility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonThistle/pseuds/DragonThistle
Summary: Milo is free of the Facility and back with his family and friends.But that place and its trials have left their marks on him.As if the road to recovery weren't difficult enough, this walk is covered in pitfalls of therapy, hungry paparazzi, and unexpected family visits. Not to mention having to adjust to an entirely new way of living.And the Facility hasn't finished with Milo yet. He has to face them one more time before he can finally shake their dust from his boots. At least this time, he's not doing it alone.
Relationships: Jake Pierly/Sage
Series: Bend Until You Break [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687900
Kudos: 1





	1. The Hospital

Freedom tasted so sweet until reality crashed back into place.

Milo was calm and quiet and relatively relaxed, content and half asleep in Dan’s arms, until the uniforms ushered the group into the back of the ambulance. The doors slammed shut and the _bang_ jolted Milo out of his half-asleep state, sending him rocketing upright and nearly smashing his face into Dan’s chin. His wide eyes darted across the interior of the ambulance as it rumbled to life, took in the gurney with its waiting straps, the EMTs braced against the interior of the vehicle, the medical supplies already prepped and waiting. And even though he knew he was safe, even though he knew he was out of the Facility, fear latched onto his heart and sent him reeling. Milo squirmed in Dan’s arms, tiny noises of fright catching in his throat as he kicked his feet out and pushed his shaking hands against Dan’s chest, trying to get free, trying to escape.

“Milo, Milo, sweetie, sshhh, Milo, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe, I promise,” Dan gave the teenager a gentle squeeze and then immediately loosened his grip when Milo thrashed harder. Jake, who had been leaning closer to try and help, caught Milo’s heel right in his face and lurched back with a grunt, hands flying to his nose. Dan’s attention was solely on the little boy twisting in his lap, “Milo, buddy, shhh, hush, it’s okay. Hey, hey, Milo, honey, Milo, look at me. Milo. Up here, kiddo.”

Frightened eyes darted up to meet Dan’s worried ones. Milo was glazed in confusion for a moment before clarity settled in and he tucked his face into Dan’s shoulder with a shuddering sigh. Dan kissed the top of Milo’s bald head and then looked up at Jake in concern,

“You okay?”

“Not bleeding,” Sage said, one hand on Jake’s cheek as Jake blinked his watering eyes, “Kicked him right in the nose but he’ll live.”

“Sorry dad…” Milo’s voice was a little muffled, his face still half hidden in Dan’s shirt as he peered at his parents.

Jake smiled, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s focus on you.”

“Um, Mr. Fuller,” One of the EMTs said hesitantly, “I’m sorry, but…we need to…” She gestured to the gurney, all sympathy and patience.

“Y-yes, yeah, or course…” Dan shifted in his seat, apprehensive as he loosened his grip on Milo. The hesitation spoke volumes—if he let Milo go, would Milo disappear again, “Milo, hun, we—the EMTs need to take a look at you so we can help you get better. I’m going to put you down but me and your dad and apa are all _right here_. We’re right here and we’re not going anywhere, Milo, _I promise_.”

Milo nodded slowly in understanding, but he still let out a frightened whine as Dan eased him onto the gurney. He instantly curled away from the attending EMTs and it took quite a bit of gentle coaxing to get him to straighten out again. 

He jumped when someone grabbed his hand and looked around to see Jake holding him with a worried but earnest smile. Sage was leaning against Jake’s back, their chin on his shoulder, watching him intently. When they caught Milo looking, they stuck their tongue out at him. A couple of daisy emotes glitched across their cyborg eye and Milo offered a very thin, very watery smile in return.

It wasn’t the reunion they wanted, but it was more than enough for everyone.

* * *

Though they’d managed to keep Milo somewhat calm during the trip in the ambulance—even with the EMTs inspecting him—Milo refused to let himself be pushed into the hospital on the gurney. The minute they’d stopped, he’d scrambled back into Dan’s arms, hiding his face and shaking. When Sage and Jake tried to pry him off, he clung all the tighter and begged them not to make him do it. His words stuttered out between apologies and promises that he’d be good, just, please, please, please don’t hurt him anymore.

Sage, looking utterly shattered, pressed their hands over their ears as Milo’s noises of distress grew in volume and desperation. Jake put an arm around their shoulders, let them duck their head into his neck and try not to cry. The EMTs looked helplessly at one another until one of them tentatively said,

“It…should be okay if you carry him into the building. If it keeps him calm.”

Jake let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping, “Thank you…”

“Milo, hush, it’s okay,” Dan murmured, climbing carefully to his feet as the EMT clambered past the family to open the ambulance doors, “We’re going to carry you into the hospital and—and then the doctors will be able to help you. All right?”

The noise that Milo made as he pushed his face deeper into Dan’s shirt wasn’t exactly one of consent, but they took it as one of acknowledgement. 

Walking the few steps to make it through the hospital doors felt like crossing a minefield.

When Milo caught the scent of chemical cleaner and chalky medicine, saw the flash of nurse’s scrubs and clinical white walls, heard the murmur of medical terms, he lost control. A scream tore up his throat and broke off into a strangled sob as his back arched and he tried to pull away. Dan held him tighter, trying to soothe him, wrapping his big arms around Milo’s frail little body and holding Milo against his chest. Milo sobbed, curling into Dan’s shoulder and trying to hide himself, looking ready to climb over Dan’s back and bolt for the door. Jake reached up a hand and caught Milo’s shaking fingers, making the boy startle and look with teary eyes to see who had touched him. Jake’s comforting smile was thin and unstable,

“It’s okay, Milo, we—we’re right here. We’ll be right here.”

“I don’ wanna be here,” Milo breathed, the whisper of his voice trembling past his dry, chapped lips, “Wanna go home…dad, I wanna go home…”

“I know, sweetie, I know,” Dan’s large, warm hand cupped the back of Milo’s head, prickling with the start of new hair growth, “We’ll go home soon, I promise. But we—Milo, honey, you’re really hurt and we can’t—“

“These doctors are—are good,” Sage said, “They’re good, kiddo, and they’re gonna, um, d-d-do—they’re gonna do what they can to help you heal. Okay?”

Milo swallowed thickly, still looking like he didn’t quite believe that, but nodded. He still refused to be put on a gurney and Jake managed to talk the staff into letting Dan carry him to the room where the doctor would look at him. The walk there was stiff and silent, only broken by Milo’s muffled sniffs and whimpers or the voices of other staff filtering down the halls. It was a hazy little walk for everyone, directions lost in featureless white walls and closed doors until the nurse let them into a room down a small side hall, saying something about security being organized to watch the door. Then the nurse was gone and it was just the four of them again, sitting in thick silence that was filled with something sour and uncomfortable.

“This sucks.” Sage said to no one in particular.

Milo snorted and a smile flickered across the corners of his mouth. It quickly vanished when the door opened and a nurse strode into the room, a doctor and a police officer close on her heels. Milo immediately shrank back into Dan’s arms. It wasn’t the same nurse who had showed them into the room—in fact, this nurse…

“Milo!” Reese’s voice cracked as she struggled to keep her composure, “Oh honey, why are you always getting into trouble…” Milo peered up at her from the depths of Dan’s shirt, wary recognition flickering in his tired eyes, “Is it okay if I touch you? We can go slow, take as much time as you need, but we need to—need to see how you’re doing—“

“We need to assess the damage,” The doctor interrupted, making everyone stiffen, “I’m sorry for being so blunt. The Facility has released their…files to us, but in order to help you to the fullest degree possible, we really need to get a decent look at what we’re working with.” His expression softened, his entire demeanor easing into a kind smile, “We just want to help you, Milo.”

“You can trust Dr. Pellow,” Reese assured Milo, “He’s a really good guy. I help him with other kids all the time.”

It took some more gentle words and soft promises but, eventually, Milo was coaxed out of Sage’s hoodie and onto the hospital bed and allowed Nurse Reese to attend to him. If Dr. Pellow drew too close, Milo would stiffen and pull away, wary and frightened with a tiny spark of anger in his eyes. The police officer stayed by the door and tried to act like he wasn’t staring.

It was a long and exhausting process that required patient from everyone. It took so much time that the exam couldn’t even be completed, some tests like x-rays or other scans having to be scheduled for other days. Milo was dozing off by the end of it, his eyes heavy even as he struggled to stay awake. Sage had given up that fight already; they were draped over the armrest of a nearby chair, twisted awkwardly in their seat, their head pillowed on their folded arms. Jake had been in and out of the room, taking phone calls and meeting with people in suits. He came back looking a little more drained every time. 

Finally, Reese tucked a warm blanket around Milo’s thin chest, smiled, and followed the doctor and police officer out of the room. Then it was quiet and still and filled only with the sound of steady breathing. Milo was asleep, pale and drawn and looking like he was teetering on death’s door—but there was a peacefulness to him, something relaxed. He looked safe.

Jake dropped his face into his hands, looking so drawn and exhausted that he was likely to pass out himself. The tension from the day had yet to leave him, the ridges of his spine harsh through the back of his button up shirt where he doubled over his lap. Misery wrote itself into every line of his body. Dan was slouched in a chair next to him, staring vacantly at the shallow rise and fall of Milo’s chest. The beeping of the heart monitor seemed too loud in the quiet.

“Government’s covering all the hospital bills,” Jake murmured into his lap after a long moment. The heels of his hands were pressed into his eyes, pale fingers tangled in thin blond hair, “Small fu—small penance that is…”

A thin curtain of silence fell between them. In the chair against the wall behind them, Sage shifted and then began to snore softly.

“When did our lives turn into this?” Dan said hoarsely, something lost and maybe a little hopeless in his expression. The bruises under his eyes seemed heavier, “What happened to us?”

Jake raised his head, gaze falling on the body of the little boy they’d raised, 

“Who the hell knows. Some kind of karmic bullshi—stuff?” He glanced at Dan, dark humor seeping into his voice as the corner of his mouth twisted into something dark and ugly, “You haven’t murdered anyone, have you?”

Dan blinked. And then the ghost of an angry sneer wrenched his face into something feral and unfamiliar, 

“No. But in that place…? Kinda wish I had.”

Jake knew what he meant.

* * *

It went without saying, but Milo did not like the hospital. 

He was restless and frighted, constantly on edge and jumping at the slightest noise. Worst still, he refused to let any staff except Nurse Reese touch him; which slowed down his diagnosis and treatments.

By far the worst times were those very rare moments when Dan, Jake, or Sage weren’t around for whatever reason. If one of his parents wasn’t in the room with him, Milo would kick up the mother of all fusses—he would cry and shriek and kick and work himself to the point of exhaustion. Even Reese struggled to calm him down. 

Even when his parents were around, Milo made the most awful noises of distress and fear and it was hard to get him to separate him from someone he’d attached himself to. He liked to curl up in the warm safety of Dan’s arms, or tuck his thin little frame into Jake lap, or snuggle against Sage’s side with their thick tail wrapped protectively around him. He was so small and afraid, so fragile looking amongst the machines and wires and heavy hospital blankets. It was easy to forget how loudly he could scream when he wanted to.

One of his parents had taken to staying the night in his room. Milo sometimes woke up in the night and began screaming at the sight of the medical equipment around him, forgetting where he was. His cries would wake other patients and send the night staff into a frenzy as they attempted to wrangle and settle their wards. At least with someone he trusted there, even if Milo did wake up, he’d have someone to help reassure him that he was safe and that he wasn’t alone. 

“I wanna go home,” He mumbled after his fifth day in the hospital. He was already looking a little bit better, some color coming back to his cheeks, the points of his bones still worryingly sharp against his skin, but most of his lesser injuries treated and bandaged.

“I know, sweetie, but you’re not strong enough yet,” Dan said gently, smiling at him from his chair beside the bed, “You’re healing really well, though. So maybe soon.” He paused, mulling some words over before he set them out,

“How do you like Dr. Pellow?”

Milo shrugged one shoulder, occupied with watching his fingers drift over the soft fur of the plushie shark he’d been given from home. It was worn and familiar and comforting, something that grounded him and reminded him that there was a world outside of the sterile rooms and chemical smells,

“Dunno. He’s okay. Said I could call him “Dr. Pillow”, if I wanted to.” He paused, considering, brow furrowing as he thought, “He’s…he doesn’t yell at me or tell me I’m wrong or anything. He kind of, I dunno, waits for me and—and lets Nurse Reese do most stuff. I don’t—I keep—I keep waiting for him to get mad at me or—or to yell at me.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Milo, he’s a very kind man.” Dan’s expression had worry written all over it. He leaned forward and put his hand gently on top of Milo’s fidgeting fingers, “Everyone is only here to help you. I know…you might have a hard time trusting—trusting strangers right now, b-but, Milo, I swear,” Dan was furiously blinking tears from his eyes as he met Milo’s gaze, “I swear to god, Milo, no one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise.”

He wanted to say something, he really did. But his voice box had forgotten how to work and his tongue had gone numb. 

So instead, Milo shuffled over on his hospital bed and let Dan pick him up, blankets and all, and hold him until he drifted off to sleep.


	2. The Friend

“I’m afraid you’re going to need surgery.” Said Dr. Pellow, his expression sympathetic and somewhat grim.

“No.” Milo’s voice was sharp and cold and tinged with a hint of fear.

“This isn’t a yes or no option, Milo,” Dr. Pellow said seriously, but still with that gentle sympathy, “Currently your chest is dangerously exposed and those staples can’t remain safely in your skin. You’re at serious risk for infections or worse injury if nothing is done. Does that make sense to you?”

Milo frowned at his lap, his jaw clenched and his shoulders set. He looked small in his defiance, prickly but frightened, a hedgehog curling into a ball to protect its vulnerable underbelly with sharp spines. He appeared to be turning the thought of surgery over and over in his mind, because soon enough his breathing picked up and his hands began to shake. The heart monitor started to protest and Dan quickly rose from his chair to settle himself on the bed next to his son. Milo latched onto him immediately and Dan gently rocked him in his arms, trying to calm him down. Reese, standing just behind Dr. Pellow, looked as though her heart was breaking at the sight.

“Will it hurt?” Sage asked in a very small voice, their ears lowered as they leaned against the side of the hospital bed, almost out of their chair to be closer to Dan and Milo.

“No, no, of course not!” Reese said before Dr. Pellow could get a word out, “H-he’d be under—knocked out. He wouldn’t feel or see a thing.”

“I don’t want to be knocked out!” Milo whimpered, “I don’t—you could do anything to me! Y-you could—you’re going to hurt me—!”

“Shhh, shh, Milo, no one’s going to hurt you,” Dan murmured, “Please, Milo, we’re trying to help you.”

Milo made a choked noise, his eyes swimming with tears, “Don’t make me sleep, please, daddy, I don’t want to, I’m scared. I’m scared, I’m scared…”

Reese looked horrified and distressed, her hand over her mouth and her own eyes threatening tears as Dan quietly tried to keep Milo calm. Dr. Pellow appeared to be struggling with his own emotions, his hands curling and uncurling, his breath unsteady, something like sick anger and hurt in his face. 

“H-how much--“ Jake tripped over his words, one hand resting on Sage’s back, the other clenched tightly into the fabric of his jeans, “How much would it hurt him? If—if he’s awake, I mean. How much will it hurt?”

Dr. Pellow took a deep breath and let it out slowly, appearing much calmer, “Honestly, taking the staples out probably wouldn’t hurt much at all. The problem is after they come out. The surgeons need to assess the damages; check his organs for any internal injury, make sure everything’s where it should be and there’s nothing that needs further surgery. Then, well, he’d need to be properly sewed up and bandaged and I can’t imagine that would feel to great. He’s gotten enough strength back now that it shouldn’t be anything to worry about physically, but I’m more concerned about his mental health right now.” Dr. Pellow’s voice dropped, wavering from its usual calm, “I just don’t understand how someone could do something so horrific to a child…”

“Join the club.” Sage muttered to no one in particular, a dark venom in their voice. Jake curled his arm around them and leaned into their side.

“Would it be possible to perform the surgery without knocking him out completely?” Reese’s voice was halting, tip-toeing carefully into uncertainty and hopefulness, “Could he just be numbed enough without going completely under?”

“Mmm…” Dr. Pellow rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, frowning as he thought. His gaze lingered on Milo, who had finally settled into a lethargic doze, exhausting himself with his little episode, “It might be possible. But I would have to speak with the attending surgeons. Personally, that sounds like the best solution for everyone.”

“Could I—could someone be in there? I mean, with him? Just—just maybe out of the way somewhere?” Dan’s voice was hushed and hopeful, absently stroking the ginger fuzz on Milo’s head as he glanced up at Dr. Pellow, “I—I don’t like the idea of him being in there alone, semi-conscious, no idea who’s…just…would it be all right?” The corners of his eyes were burning as he pleaded with the doctor.

Dr. Pellow swallowed hard, “I’ll have to check with the surgeons. I…I am…sorry. I’m so sorry.”

No one was exactly sure what he was apologizing for.

* * *

Jake ended up being the one to stand by Milo’s head and offer him gentle reassurances through a medical mask and latex gloves.

Dan was too worked up and kept breaking down into tears, and Sage was far too full of anxiety and nervous energy to be helpful. Both of them were stuck watching the proceedings from the observation room of the operating theatre, leaning against each other and pressed against the window as if they could reach through and hug the small, pale figure on the operating table. Once in a while, Jake would glance their way, meet their worried gazes, and give them a shaky thumbs up. Then he’d turn back to Milo, the little boy’s head cupped between his hands, and try to keep them both calm.

Milo was terrifyingly still during the operation, his breathing shallow, his eyes heavy and closed for the most part. Occasionally he would twitch his head back and forth against the feel of the gas mask over his face, fretting and struggling weakly against the drugs weighing down his mind and body. 

In those brief moments, Jake would lean down, brushing his palms against the side of Milo’s face or gently massaging his son’s temples, and murmur softly to him. For the most part, it was promises that everything would be okay, or the temptations of sweet treats when they finally made it home. Promises of going to the aquarium, of seeing the new exhibits, of buying all the shark plushies from the gift shop that Milo could carry. Every once in a while, he whispered some songs into Milo’s ear, lyrics no one had heard for years and only Dan would recognize now, angry and bitter songs said with love and tenderness. 

The procedure felt like it stretched on for hours.

When it was finally over and Milo was stitched, wrapped, and tucked away in his hospital bed to sleep everything off, Jake collapsed into a chair beside Sage and pushed his face into their shoulder. Sage wordlessly wrapped him in a hug, nuzzling his hair and rubbing his back. Dan kept vigil closer to Milo’s bedside, one hand resting on top of Milo’s, watching the boy sleep with worried exhaustion. 

“He’s going to be all right,” Dr. Pellow said in a low voice, looking equally tired though he’d not been part of the operation, “The surgeons say he’ll recover just fine, no complications. He…will be weaker, however. Even after his muscles and nerves heal, there will be deadened sensation and possible loss of mobility. It was also discovered that there was some minor damage to his spinal column and the attached musculature; not enough to inhibit his movement, obviously, but he will most likely suffer from back pain and possible spasm in the future.” Dan made a choked off sound that might have been a wretched and angry scream he’d only swallowed down so as not to wake up his son. Dr. Pellow’s expression went beyond sympathy right into devastated, 

“We can discuss physical—and mental—therapy later. For now, Milo’s recovery is top priority.” The doctor hesitated, glancing between the adults before reluctantly spilling out his words, “I feel I should make you aware that the media is…it’s getting rather nosey, at the moment. Our staff is—that is, if anyone where to say anything they would likely lose their job and never work in the medical field again. However, the police are…unlikely to continue monitoring the door now that they are aware Milo is going to be…mm. Alive.”

“Pigs.” Sage spat and Jake hushed them softly.

“Yes, well,” Dr. Pellow wouldn’t meet their gazes, staring instead down at the medical chart in his hands, “I thought—I felt you should be made aware of these things. And I…I am genuinely—I am so sorry. To all of you. To Milo. This isn’t an ideal situation and if I could—if there’s anything that I personally can do to help you, please…”

“You’ve done so much already,” Dan croaked out, his smile wavering but warm and truthful all the same, “Thank you. Honestly, thank you.”

Dr. Pellow visibly swallowed, ducked his head once, and left the room. 

The quiet that followed him felt tainted and sticky, sour candy melting over their skin and staining their fingertips with sugar red. Dan pressed the knuckles of Milo’s still hand to his forehead and took deep, unsteady breaths. Jake was shaking in Sage’s arms, the two of them curled together and clutching one another as if the universe would drift apart if they didn’t. Jake’s eyes were wide open and bloodshot with tiredness, his gaze fixed solely on his son sleeping in the hospital bed. The energy in the room was listless, sick and disjointed and spread so thin it threatened to break at any moment.

Sage’s hoarse whisper finally broke the silence,

“Do you think I would get sent to prison for eating a paparazzi?”

“Do not.” Jake said immediately and Dan made a weak, sputtering noise that might have been a laugh under better circumstances. 

“No promises if one of them makes Milo cry,” Sage muttered into Jake’s hair.

“They’d have to get through Dan, first.” There was the barest tint of humor in Jake’s voice, “And me.”

“Milo Protection Squad,” Said Sage, “We need matching t-shirts.”

“You two are the worst,” Dan said over his shoulder. But there was a smile trying to curl the corner of his mouth and even though his eyes were still puffy and red with tears, that old warmth was rekindled in them as he looked at his family. 

“But you love us~” Sage cooed and Dan’s smile broadened into something almost as bright and familiar as it used to be. And that was enough, at least for the time being.

* * *

The next few days were full of a lot of talk and very little action. 

Which was perfectly fine with Milo because he had a lot of sleep to catch up on. 

At least one of his parents tried to be with him at all times, but that wasn’t always possible. So, in an effort to make sure Milo wouldn’t wake up alone, Reese volunteered her time. She committed herself fully to Milo’s recovery, ignoring days off and getting the hospitals permission to be assigned to Milo alone. Other nurses could attend to Milo if he was asleep—changing drip lines and medicine bags, checking equipment and bandages—but it was only Reese he allowed to handle him if he was awake. He was slowly warming up to Dr. Pellow, but still approached the man with stilted words and wary recognition, flinching in Pellow moved towards him too quickly or shrinking away if he drew too close. It was painful to watch.

Even more painful was the talk to one of the hospital psychiatrists.

Milo needed an assessment of his mental condition but it was clear he loathed to do it. 

The moment the psychiatrist had perched herself very professionally on a chair and offered him a thin smile and began talking, Milo had instantly clammed up. His jaw clenched and his posture stiffened and he sank down into his pillow and blankets with a squinty glare of distrust. Once or twice he might grunt in affirmation or give one word answers, but he stubbornly refused to be more cooperative. No matter how kindly the woman spoke to him or how differently she approached with her words, Milo refused to speak.

“Why didn’t you want to talk to the psychiatrist, baby shark?” Dan asked as Milo grumpily stabbed his plastic spoon into a pile of applesauce.

“Didn’ like her,” Milo mumbled, smearing his food around the tray.

“Milo, stop playing and eat your dinner.” Jake was filling out paperwork, ankle on his knee and a little crease between his brows as he carefully filled in the blank lines with information. 

Milo stuck his tongue out but did as he was told, scooping a helping of applesauce into his mouth before attacking the mashed potatoes instead. He was on a diet of mostly soft foods at the moment, fruits and vegetables that would be easy for his body to process, and in small portions so as not to shock his system. It wasn’t dangerous, Dr. Pellow had assured them, but Milo was underweight and it was clear he hadn’t been eating right. Though he wasn’t at risk of starving or suffering malnutrition, he needed to get his weight back up so his body could focus on healing itself.

“What didn’t you like about her?” Dan prompted. He was leaning against the foot of Milo’s hospital bed, arms crossed on the bed sheets, as close as he could be without getting in the way.

Milo was quiet for a long moment, finishing off his potatoes before he answered, “She looked—she reminded me…of Dr. Pearce.”

The name soured the air and made it crackle with frosty hatred and fear. Jake glanced up from the paperwork, pen stilling in his fingers. Dan’s face hardened and his fingers flexed into clenched fists under his folded arms. Milo glared at his food tray. No one said anything for a long, tense moment.

Then Milo took a stab at his applesauce again and spoke around his mouthful, “Where’s apa?”

“Visiting family,” Jake’s pen dropped to the paperwork again, “They’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Milo made another face at him and that was that.

* * *

“MILO!”

Milo startled so badly that the heart monitor wailed in protest for a few seconds. Sage actually bolted from their chair and was in the process of putting themselves between Milo and the door to the room when Cody came tumbling over the threshold. He looked winded and a little scared and hopeful and excited all at once, his cheeks flushed and his hands shaking. 

“Cody…?” The two stared at one another for a moment before Milo lit up like a beacon, “CODY!”

“MILO!”

Cody closed the short distanced between them with a running leap and threw himself against Milo’s hospital bed. The two embraced, half hysterical laughs that were almost sobs catching in their voices. Milo’s fingers dug into Cody’s jacket, a familiar, grounding grip that was desperate and happy all at once. Sage’s long tail wagged back and forth as they beamed at the two friends.

The pair were still hugging when Dominic came stumbling into the room, breathless, “Cody, I said no running in the hospital!”

“Aw, let them be, Dom,” Sage gestured to the chairs and small table beside the window, across the room from Milo’s bed, “Come on, take a load off. Let the boys catch up and I can thank you profusely for helping me while my husband was in jail.”

Dominic turned pink and muttered something about how it wasn’t a big deal. But he followed Sage over the window, gently patting Milo’s leg as he passed, and flopped into a chair. The two adults settled into an unsteady rhythm of conversation, far enough away that Milo and Cody could have their space, but close enough that they could still keep an eye on everything. The two teenagers, for their part, had already put the grown ups out of their minds and were quite happy to be left to their own devices. 

“Dad didn’t wanna tell me what happened,” Cody said slotting himself next to Milo on the bed, trying not to stare at the bandages or the bright blue knitted beanie tugged over his friend’s head, “And he got kinda mad when I asked Mx. Pierly and they told me instead. I’m really glad you’re back…” His smile faltered and he leaned his head on Milo’s shoulder, carefully, as if he was afraid of breaking something, “I was really scared…I really, really missed you…I wasn’t—I wasn’t sure I’d get to see you again…”

Milo felt a lump swelling in his throat and pressed himself against Cody. His chest hurt from the hug and his back was twinging but he could care less. Cody was his best friend in the whole world and Milo and had missed him terribly. 

“’S been really quiet without you falling through my window every other night,” Cody joked, some of the levity missing from his voice. But it still made Milo scoff and nudge him with an elbow, “You’ve been all over the news—like your story and everything. It’s been kind of crazy…”

Milo made a noncommittal noise and started picking at the skin around his fingernails, “What’s school been like?”

Cody wrinkled his nose, slumping down farther onto the bed, “It’s been kinda sucky, honestly. Everyone’s talking about what’s been happening and bugging me with questions. The news people got kicked off of school grounds a couple times and Dad’s chased them away from the house once or twice. People keep thinking I know what’s been going on and it’s just…it makes me mad.” His brow furrowed, fingers tightening into the fabric of the blanket he say on top of, “They don’t _actually_ care about _you_ , they just wanna know before their friends because they’re stupid gossips. There was this big stupid assembly about rumors and the harm they do and how we’re supposed to support people in trying times and it felt like everyone was staring at me cause we all knew what it was _actually about_. Some kids got pulled out of school by their parents too. It’s just…I dunno…bad, I guess…”

Silence eased itself comfortably between them. Cody looked tired and Milo wriggled about until he could lay down, inviting Cody to nestle in beside him. Milo couldn’t roll completely onto his side because he was still recovering from surgery and it made his stitches hurt, but he tilted himself to the right a little bit, enough to be able to comfortably turn his head towards his friend. Cody tucked a hand under his head, rolling over to face Milo, and tried to smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was genuine and it was warm and it was friendly and it was familiar. 

“Did you find any ghosts?” Milo asked because he didn’t like the weird quiet between them and he just wanted to hear his friend talk to him.

“Mm-mm,” A shake of the head, a little awkward with Cody laying on his side, “Didn’t feel right, looking for them without you.” There was a second of hesitation and then,

“Did you find anything out about your dad?”

That sickening feeling of the truth rearing its ugly head bubbled up in Milo’s stomach again. 

It made him feel disgusting and made him think about that black _thing_ that the Facility had cut out of him. His throat closed and he tasted bile on his tongue and swallowed hard, dropping his gaze away from Cody’s face to stare at the bunched up blankets. The room suddenly felt bigger and colder,

“I don’t wanna talk about it…”

Cody shifted closer and draped an apologetic arm over Milo in a loose hug, “Okay. Sorry I brought it up.” He pulled back, shuffling about for a moment to find a comfortable position, “Is the hospital treating you okay? Do you still have more stuff they have to do to you? Do you know when you’ll get out?”

“I dunno,” Milo admitted, the bitterness still clinging to the back of his mouth, “My parents are really handling all the stuff. I don’t—I don’t like it in here. I don’t wanna know what they find about me or what they have to do to fix it.” His eyes felt hot and he sniffed, trying to hold back the tears from force of habit, “I just wanna go home. I miss it all being, I dunno, normal.”

“You think we can do normal again?” Cody asked softly, curling in on himself.

Milo closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He could feel the prickle of needles and see the white walls of the Facility behind his eyelids. But opening them again just showed him the white walls of the hospital, so very different but so painfully and horrifyingly similar to the ones in the Facility. He could feel Cody’s eyes on him, hear Sage and Dominic chatting in low voices nearby, competing with the steady beat of his heart monitor. He thought about the scars carved forever into his body by adults who were supposed to protect kids, about the horrible, wretched black thing that had been living inside him for god only knew how long, and about the sounds Roland’s jaw had made when Dan had shattered it with his fist.

The tears he’d been struggling to hold back flooded into his eyes and a quiet whimper escaped him, “I don’t know what normal is anymore…”

Cody sniffed, lower lip sticking out in an almost pout as he fought to keep his own tears in check, “Then—then we can make it whatever we want it to be!” He reached out to Milo again and this time, Milo rolled over into his friend’s embrace, ignoring the dull pain that tugged at his stitches. Cody was warm and smelled like computers and paper and it was familiar and safe. Milo curled into a ball, head tucked under Cody’s chin, finger’s curled loosely in his friend’s jacket, closing his eyes against the hot lines tracking slowly down his face.

“We’re going to be whatever we want to be,” Cody murmured, only the barest tremor in his voice,

“And we’re going to be okay.”


	3. The First Steps

They got him a new psychiatrist.

It was still hard for Milo to open up to her, but she was nothing if not patient and sweet. His voice got stuck in his throat around the doctors and nurses, an unbidden fear of punishment choking it down. What if he said the wrong thing? What if he said something stupid? What if he said something that would make things worse for him?

“You don’t have to talk to me,” She told him, very carefully, very gently, “But—and there’s always a but, I know—but, if you don’t, they will probably keep you here even longer. Or have you admitted to a mental health care center. I know you want to get home and get out of this boring hospital so I’m here if you do want to talk. And I won’t tell your parents. This is just between us.” Then she’d winked with a conspiratorial smile and it had been such an unexpected thing that Milo couldn’t help but smile back.

But putting into words what the Facility had done to him was akin to forcing himself to swallow battery acid. 

It stung his lips and burned his tongue, corroding his throat until he choked and could only wheeze and cry and sputter slurred sounds that might have been apologies or pleas. Miss. Yalonda (“Miss, please, calling me “doctor” is so formal") was a round woman whose dark braids were woven with little colorful beads. When she moved, the beads clattered together softly in a soothing sort of manner. Which was how Milo always knew she was around. The first time he’d managed to start talking about what had happened, he’d suffered a complete breakdown. While he was gasping and sobbing, trying desperately to regain control of himself, he heard the soft patter of the beads moving and pressed himself back into his pillows with a hiccuping whine, shivering in fear. 

But Miss. Yalonda had only stood at arm’s length and offered him a box of tissues with that same, patient, kindly smile. Once he’d taken the box with trembling and uncertain fingers, she had gone and sat back down on the chair a short distance from the end of his bed. She was still waiting patiently when he had finally finished blubbering and settled down into the occasional sniffles. He watched her warily, rubbing his reddened eyes, waiting for her to chastise him or to push him with more questions. 

Instead, she spoke in a gentle tone, warm and soft as fresh bread, “We can stop for today, if you want. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this is for you, honey. I want you to move at a pace you feel okay about.” She smiled, crow’s feet crinkling in the corners of her eyes, “You’re a very brave boy, Milo.”

It had shocked him that she had called him by his name and that started him crying all over again.

She was sitting closer to the side of the bed when he calmed down, handing him a glass of water that was cool against his palm and his sore throat. It was grounding, and he wrapped both hands around it, taking deep, unsteady breaths until his head stopped spinning. Miss. Yalonda didn’t press him, just sat in her chair and made sure he was all right, softly coaching him through his breathing and praising him for being so receptive. It was a sharp and welcome contrast to Pearce’s cold and demeaning interrogation methods. 

“Th-they called me—they treated me like a—an object,” Milo finally managed to choke out, his voice hoarse and gummy from crying, “Called me “it” or—or m-my number, a-anything but my name. I was j-j-just a science project to th-them.” He wavered, his eyes burning again, remembering the threats and the disgusted glances, the way the staff of the Facility had looked at him as if he were something under a microscope or an interesting rock. It made his injuries ache like they were fresh wounds.

“How did it make you feel when they called you things like that, Milo?” Miss. Yalonda asked.

“Like…like I was just…a thing. An object.” Milo said, staring into his cup of water. A tear managed to escape and run away down his cheek.

“Oh hun,” Miss. Yalonda breathed, “I know you’ve probably heard this so many times already, but you did not deserve what happened to you. You’re not an “it” or an “object”, Milo, and you did not deserve to be treated like one. You understand?”

“I know that, I—I know, I just…” Milo’s lower lip trembled and he bit it hard, trying to contain himself.

“Just what, honey?”

“I know that the Facility was—is wrong, I know it, I really do,” Milo turned the cup around and around in his hands, blinking rapidly to stop his vision from blurring, “B-but I was all alone and I was so s-s-scared and even if I’m n-not an object, I’m not human, I can’t be! I s-saw what they p-pulled out from inside me! I was—there was black and it was _inside me_! It was _in me_! I can’t be human and what if they were right and I’m just—“

“Milo, I want you to take a deep breath, as deep as you can,” Miss. Yalonda interrupted him and he gaped at her, his stitches aching as his chest rapidly rose and fell in his panic, “Come on, Milo, deep breath. Thaaaattt’s it sweetie. Hold it for a second. Good. Now, let it out very slowly. Very good, that was very good. Okay, let’s do it again. I’ll do it with you this time, all right.”

Milo was tired by the time his session with Miss. Yalonda was done. He was exhausted, really, his eyes red and puffy from crying and his his injuries throbbing with the pain of too much exertion. But he felt…better. A little lighter, maybe. 

Maybe talking wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

Milo had a nightmare that something was crawling up his throat. 

It slid sticky fingers over his tongue and pried his teeth apart, black gunk oozing down to infect his gums. He dream that he was motionless, helpless to move as it curled its finger tips under his lips and pushed his mouth open. He couldn’t see it, he could only feel it squirm across his tongue, the tail of it still wriggling in his throat, pulsing against his esophagus, making his neck twitch and bulge. 

It tasted bad, like he’d put something rotten and filled with sour candy in his mouth and he wanted to throw up. In the dream, he wanted to spit and vomit and struggle and get the thing out. But he couldn’t move, he could only lay there as whatever it was leisurely explored the roof of his mouth with flicking tendrils and twisted around his tongue like a serpent with its prey. More of it slid into his nose, exploring its way down his nasal cavities and pushing into his sinuses.

Something pressed against the corner of his eye and in the way things worked in dreams, Milo knew it was that same black stuff filling his mouth and spilling from his nose. The pressure increased and he swore he felt his eyeball twisting unbidden in its socket. Then something viscous and dark oozed down his face, twitching and wriggling as it went. His tear ducts burned and his eyes rolled as more of that awful black ooze slithered its way from behind his eyes. His ears popped and there was an awful _glug_ of sound as he felt the stuff climb out from his very skull, tickling the cartilage of his ears as it coiled into his hair.

Darkness was leaking out of him everywhere, seeping from inside him, choking him, clogging his veins and swelling in his stomach. And he could do nothing to stop it. he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he could only exist as whatever it was wrapped him up inside and out. 

Milo woke up screaming.

He thrashed against the weight on top of him, yanked on the thing tugging at the back of his hand, bucking against the smeared surreal nature of that space between waking and dreaming. A siren was wailing, his blood was rushing in his ears, breathing was hard, and there were voices so tangled together he couldn’t understand the words. 

When he felt hands on him, he screamed for his parents. 

He didn’t remember much after that.

* * *

“I would recommend admitting him to an inpatient psychiatric hospital,” Dr. Pellow said and the mood in the room instantly soured. 

Jake stiffened, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists as his jaw tightened. Though his brow only furrowed slightly, there was righteous anger burning bright as hellfire in his eyes. It was an indignant and repressed rage, one that threatened to scald anyone foolish enough to prod at it.

Beside him, Sage’s ears pinned back immediately, circle-backslashes and red x’s flashing through their cyber-eye display. Their tail coiled around the leg of their chair and a low rumble built in their throat, their lip curling just enough to show the tip of their fangs.

The thundercloud that was Daniel Fuller swelled with an unprecedented protective fury. His presence filled the room even more so than the angry dragon. Sitting in his chair beside his family, he glared across the desk at the doctor and spoke in voice like the fall of a mighty hammer,

“No.”

Dr. Pellow, who had seen many things in his time as a physician, was unfazed by the triple threat displays going on in front of him. He simply blinked and said, “Listen, I know it’s not what you want to hear but Milo’s mental health is extremely fragile. He regresses to an almost feral state at the drop of a hat and could prove to be a danger to himself and others.”

“No.” Dan said again.

“You think taking him away and locking him up again is going to help that!?” Sage’s voice cracked with distress and anger, a thin line of smoke trailing up between their teeth, “He needs to be home! He needs to be somewhere familiar! He needs his family!” Their voice was rising into a shout, following them as they half stood from their chair. Their horns seemed longer.

“Please lower you voice—“

“He’s scared and he deserves to go home!”

“—I understand you’re upset—“

“Taking him away will just make things worse!”

“—Mx. Pierly, please—

“How would you like it if—“

“What can we do instead?” A third voice cut into the argument between the doctor and the dragon. The tension in the room became brittle and uncertain, teetering on the brink of shattering into chaos or dissolving as if it had never been. Everyone looked around at Jake, who had remained in his chair, stiff and bitter but with a cooler head. His ears were red and he was glaring at his lap, his hands fisted on his knees.

“I’m…sorry?” Dr. Pellow ventured.

“What can we do to help Milo instead of sending him to an inpatient facility,” Jake repeated. He finally lifted his gaze and that fire still burned behind his eyes, smoldering with old hatred, but controlled with a grate of blackened metal covered in the soot of passing years and wisdom, “Sage is right; taking Milo away and locking him up somewhere else would only hurt him more. I won’t—I won’t let anyone take him away. And if giving him what he needs means we have to completely change our lives around, well, then—then we’ll do that. We’ll do whatever we can to help him, but we are _not_ sending him away. Not again. Never again.”

Dr. Pellow looked at the flames in Jake’s eyes, the stony resolution on Dan’s face, the steel resolve in the set of Sage’s shoulders and sighed. He knew when he was fighting a losing battle,

“All right, I understand. I’ll talk to some colleges; I’m sure we can find a solution that works best for Milo.”

* * *

Reese was sitting with him while he finished off his lunch, picking at remains of some spaghetti. It had been a rather bland meal, but still better than anything he’d had at the Facility. Reese was reading a paperback, occasionally glancing up to look at Milo or at the equipment. It was nice, quiet company, and Milo appreciated her being there when his parents couldn’t be. She had always been kind to him, more kind than he deserved.

Milo let his plastic spork drop onto his tray and yawned, exhaustion crawling unsteadily into his bones. His stamina drained so quickly and there wasn’t much to do in a hospital bed besides sleep. Which was apparently the goal to get him to recover faster. But it was still boring. 

Nurse Reese had set down her book and was cleaning off the little table when someone came into the room. Milo looked up, expecting to see his dads or his apa. It was neither.

A scowl made him wrinkle his nose, “Oh. It’s you. What do _you_ want.”

Tegan Butter shifted from foot to foot just inside the doorway, her head ducked, her usual exuberance and energy diminished, “I just wanted to visit. See how you were doing.”

“Trying to get the latest scoop on me?” Milo shot back, self consciously pulling his beanie lower over his ears.

Tegan seemed genuinely hurt. She sniffed, fingers curling into the strap of her shoulder bag “No! I—I was—I really just wanted to visit you! Cody said you were doing better and—“

“You talked to Cody?” Milo’s voice teetered between accusatory and surprised. He was acutely aware of Reese quietly stepping away to the other side of the room, his skin prickling where her eyes were still on him.

“He didn’t…have anyone else…” Tegan’s voice was soft, quiet in a way Milo didn’t think it could ever be, and it made a rock form in his stomach, squashing down his just eaten meal. Tegan shuffled back a step towards the door, “I…I can go, if you want me to…”

“N-no, no, it’s…um, it’s okay,” Milo sank back against his pillows, pulling his shark plushy towards his aching chest, “I don’t mind the company.” His eyes narrowed but there was no malice in his voice when he said, “But you gotta swear not to talk to _anyone_ about me!”

Tegan smiled and while it wasn’t her usual blazing sun wattage brightness, it was genuine and kind and had a spark of her old energy in it. She skipped over to the hospital bed and flopped into a chair, making herself right at home, “You are not gonna _believe_ what Mr. Duncan found some seniors doing in the second floor bathroom…!”

She chatted at him for a while, Milo sometimes interjecting comments or trying to catch her in a lie. It wasn’t really familiar, hardly normal as Milo had often times gone out of his way to avoid Tegan at all costs. But she wasn’t trying to pry answers from him or find out his secrets, she wasn’t staring or asking questions, she was just gossiping about school like should if they really had been old friends. And that alone was comforting; to have something so normal presented to him in the face of such bizarre wrongness was grounding. It was probably the nicest thing Tegan had ever done for him and Milo found he was smiling as she carried on despite himself. 

It was only when her parents finally came to pick her up that her inexhaustible string of stories finally died down. She hopped out of her seat and was halfway to the door before she turned and ran back to his bedside. She dug into her shoulder bag and pulled out a hardcover book with a bow slapped on the cover,

“Here! It’s a shark book! You probably already have it but in case you don’t, here! And if you do, then now you have one more shark book for your collection!” Her smile was so bright and so honest that Milo’s grinned back, gratefully taking the book from her and waving as she darted out of the room. He was very tired but felt lighter than usual, even the heaviness of sleep tugging at the corners of his eyes didn’t seem so bad. He let his fingers skip over the embossed title on the cover, tracing the letters—it wasn’t a book he had and he was more than happy to have something to do.

“So,” Milo jumped; he’d forgotten that Reese was still in the room,

“Was that your girlfriend?”

Milo would have screamed if his lungs hadn’t deflated with his ego.


End file.
